Exhibit A.
I'm an accidental pilferer.

Fuck.

So yesterday, the sun was shining, the weather was sweet.
The Brit and I thought we'd stop for a coffee in the [is this for real?] sun after visiting the DIY shop.*

The Brit dropped me off at the cafe to pick up some takeaway coffees. He then proceeded to get lost when trying to find a parking spot and ended up driving into a council estate for what seemed like hours on end.

I ordered two coffees, forgetting we needed take-outs not sit-ins. So I finished my coffee and when he finally rounded the corner, I had to make a moral decision. "Shit. I ordered a coffee in a mug and not a cardboard cup."

The Brit stopped in the middle of the road to collect me, and I ended up running across the road with a mug of steaming latte and a 'Go go go, drop and roll, I've stolen a fucking cup."

He: Are you mad?

Me: Yes.

He: We're going to have to go back and drop the mug off.

Me: Not a chance. We can never go back there again.

He: Why didn't you order it in take away cups?

Me:....I don't honestly know.

So we have a new coffee mug. Which is good, considering we have another person sleeping on our couch this week. The reason I'm telling you this is because London is confusing.
You get so caught up in watching nutters/dodging people/ordering stuff/finding tickets, that you end up stealing mugs by accident from a coffee shop.

On the people-sleeping-on-our-couch scenario. I'm living in a hostel.

The matriarch, iron-fisted manageress being the Ozzie, and the dwellers being friends of friends, cousins of boyfriends. We have a house where people come and go. I rather like this, in that there are always new faces in our living room. Two being my mother and aunt from Canada who are coming to visit me in November.

I find this all rather funny. Coming from a flat that was mine in every sense of the word, from the kettle and toaster (Decorex, 2008), to the toilet brush, I was the centre of my own space.

It's a jolly good thing I've learnt how to share again.

We discovered a cool little 'very Indie film scene' place last night - The Ritzy Picture House in Brixton. We went to watch Mr Nice last night, and delighted in the fact that the movie house has a bar, sells your a plastic cup of cider which you can eat with your popcorn, and pizza dripping with chewy, hot mozzarella.

Think I might become one of those flim buff types again, like I was at varsity. Just for the beer and popcorn and the fact I'm watching films in....Brixton, bruv.

I fly to California at the end of the week.


*Oh my God. Spare me from the aisles and aisles of power tools when we're drunk. We were buying plugs. The Brit was [swoon] changing my Saffa plugs to British ones..... And now I'm horny.